


Glimpses of the past

by EmmaSpencer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Bullet wound, Discovery, Fear, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Greg and Gregory Lestrade, Greg is Caring, Haunted House, M/M, Mycroft gets home, Pain, Passing over, Secrets, War time, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade, ghost - Freeform, hiding place, is it true, leg work, love and care, mentione of second word war, so similar yet different, time lines collide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: Mycroft is on his way from a mission when he comes upon an amabdoned house where he tooks refuge.During his time there he meets the dashing Gregory Lestrade. A soldier taking refuge in the manor as well...but not everything as it seems.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Glimpses of the past

Mycroft looked around carefully from his hiding place. He listened and took note of every detail of his surroundings before making the run for the ruined mansion. He sighed relieved when no shots were fired.

He was safe, for now at least.

“All right, all right.” he panted, looking through his backpack, looking for the first aid kit. He grunted throwing it aside when realising it wasn’t in there.

“Damn.” he sighed, his head dropping back; blood was pouring out of the wound on his thigh. He first wrapped the belt around his leg and then looked around, hoping to find something useful. The hall was empty, so he slowly crawled through the house, leaving a bloody trail on the floor. There was little left in the manor, few broken furniture, torn curtains and books all over the floor. A noise drew his attention towards the stairs, he waited in the dark, holding back his breath but the house fell silent again. “Just the house settling.” he tried to reassure himself. 

He crawled up the stairs going through the bedrooms, luckily there were sheets left behind. He collected them and made the painfully long way back down to the kitchen.

The match was shaking in his hands as he set a fire, only after the windows were boarded up; he didn’t wish to give away his location after all.

“Now...now...shit, water!” he grunted. His mind was starting to give up from the loss of blood and exhaustion.

He had to go out to the well. By the time he made the trip to the well and back the sun came up. He boiled the water, washed his wound out and bandaged up his leg. He collected the rest of his strength to crawl up and make a little nest for himself.

“Night.” he whispered to the empty house before drifting off.

“Sleep well.” he heard a voice answer but was too tired to note it.

***

First waking up Mycroft had no idea where he was. It was dark again, a storm was raging outside, he was cold, thirsty and still exhausted. 

“Hey.” a voice startled him suddenly. “No need to be scared.” Mycroft pulled out his gun, pointing it towards the voice.

“I’m unarmed, would you lit the torch?” Mycroft tapped around, covered the lantern with a blanket before lighting it. “Hey.” the young man in a uniform was standing in the doorway.

“Hi.” Mycroft whispered shakily.

“English?”

“Yes,”

“Same here.”

“I can tell, from the uniform.” 

“Yeah, not that obvious from your part, all black.” the young man stepped closer and turned around with his hands in the air. “See? Unarmed.”

“Since when you are here?” Mycroft lowered the gun but still kept his finger on the trigger.

“Can’t really tell. I’m Greg by the way.”

“Mycroft. Why stay here?”

“Scared to move out; the enemy is in the woods around us. I’m unarmed, alone, have no idea which way to go…It is safe here, promise. They don’t dare to approach it, it is haunted, or that is what the legend says.”

“It is...all the creaking and wind…sometimes it is like screaming.” Mycroft woke up several times to it. Pain filled, heart clenching screams.

“Just the wind. I’ve met no one so far.”

“Glad.” he tried to get up but fell back with a cry. 

“You are wounded!” he hurried to him.

“Yeah, shot went through my leg.” he pulled his bag closer, sighing when realising his bottle was empty. 

“I...I would get you some but...it is outside.” he whispered.

“How do you drink then?”

“Rainwater. Hasn’t rained in a while now.”

“I rather go out now.” he mumbled pushing himself up finally. He had to bite down on his lips not to scream. “Holy f…” he gripped onto the bedpost. “I can do this.” he mumbled to himself as he took the first step. “I can do this.” he kept repeating as he made his way down the stairs.

Greg walked with him till the back door, not taking a step further.

“They are getting closer.” he bit down on his finger. “Can you manage?”

“I have to.” he came back with the bucket. “I have to get home to my brother.”

“You are running away from service?”

“No. I’m doing my job.”

“Espionage?” Mycroft nodded. “We need to get you back soon then. Maybe you have the information that could put an end to this!”

“Sooner I get home the better.” he put the water up to boil and dropped to the floor.

“Mycroft!” Greg stood above him, “Water is ready.” Mycroft looked around with confusion.

“Oh, thanks.” he got up and pulled the pot off the fire. Greg sat next to him, watching as he changed the bandages.

“It looks bad.” Greg flinched. 

“It does.” Mycroft sighed. “Torn through the flesh, these heal pretty badly.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” he filled his bottles with water.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You think you can manage?” he mumbled. 

“I go and sleep some more.” Mycroft dragged himself up the stairs.

“It’s early, the sun is just coming up.” Greg followed him. 

“I know.”

“I just...it’s been a long while since I’ve talked to anyone.”

“We can talk.” he sighed. “I just lay down.”

“Not eating?”

“Not now, no.” he finally reached the room. 

“Mycroft?”

“Hmmm?” he pulled blankets over himself, suddenly feeling really cold. 

“You are too young to be a soldier.”

“I’m sixteen! I’m ready to serve my country.”

“I had to lie to get enlisted; I was seventeen when it started. But you look so young, how did you get in?”

“My uncle is part of the secret service, I simply asked him.”

“And he agreed?”

“Of course. I’m useful.” he yawned. 

“You work alone?”

“Easier that way.”

“Yes.”

“Gregory?”

“Hmmm?”

“How old are you now?”

“Nineteen. I can’t go home yet, I don’t wish to be hanged for deserting.”

“How long you’ve been staying here?”

“A year now.” he whispered, “I think. Every day is the same so it is hard to tell.” Mycroft nodded. “Are you sleeping now?” Greg leant closer.

“Almost.” he whispered.

“I let you rest then.”

“Much obliged.” Mycroft sighed.

“Morning.”

“Is it?” Mycroft opened his eyes slowly. His mouth was dry, his body aching all over. 

“You are awake finally.” Greg sighed. “You must drink.”

“How long I was out?”

“Two days. I was really worried...you had a fever.”

“Oh…”

“Your leg is pretty gruesome.”

“Lovely.” he sat up slowly. 

“I was really worried because they are even closer now.” Greg glanced at the window, again biting down on his finger, Mycroft noted he did it whenever he was nervous. “I can smell the gunpowder. Drink some water.” he nudged Mycroft. “I couldn’t make you do so.”

“Sorry.” he drunk the whole bottle. 

“Better go down and get some fresh water while it is dark and that wound needs new dressing.”

“Soon.” Mycroft lay back down.

“Not soon, now!” Greg leant closer to his ear. “Now soldier!” he yelled.

“Yes, Sir.” Mycroft sat up. “I’m on it.” 

“Good.” Greg walked in front of him. 

“Water.” Mycroft took the bucket walking out, not even checking before. Greg paced in the kitchen waiting nervously for him to get back.

“You didn’t even check!”

“What?”

“If it is safe to go out!”

“Didn’t I?” he looked at him with confusion. 

“No!” Mycroft just shrugged sinking to the floor. “Your leg, get the bandage off!”

“So bossy.” Mycroft chuckled. “Hot and bossy.” he scratched his leg.

“No scratching, taking it off!” Mycroft sighed and undid the bandage. Greg had to look away. 

“Squeamish, hot and bossy.” he washed it off with water. “Where is my bag?”

“Here.”

“Maybe there is…” he looked through it again. “Oh, yes; no first aid kit.” he just remembered.

“Look through mine.”

“Thanks.” Mycroft went through Greg’s bag. “Good.” he sighed when finding the kit. Greg looked out of the window, scanning the lands.

“You can look now.” Mycroft sighed. “I go and get some more water...I feel so dirty.”

“I’ll be upstairs, call if you need something.” he mumbled.

“You can stay.” Mycroft shrugged. 

“Sure.” he sat down as well. “Those are…” he whispered pointing at the scars on Mycroft’s arms when he took off his top.

“Oh...it was me.” he turned his eyes away. “I had trouble in school, bullying…”

“Why pick on you?”

“I was ahead of my age, noble family, I...have a boyfriend.”

“Wait what?”

“Young teacher’s assistant.”

“Wow, brave as well.” he chuckled.

“No, not really.” he sighed. “You?”

“Well me…” Greg cleared his throat. “Policeman father, mother, seven siblings...basic education and a start at the police force.”

“Anyone left at home?”

“Yes, mum and my young sisters. I was the only boy you see.”

“They must have cherished you.”

“Yeah.” he chuckled. “They were pretty upset when I decided to leave. Tried talking me off it.”

“I can understand it.”

“One year later they would take me nevertheless.”

“Still, more time with them.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get to see them once this is over.” he waved.

“Yes.”

“You have a family back home?”

“I do. Younger brother,” Mycroft dressed up. “Sherlock.”

“I hope he is safe.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Only a brother?”

“I’ve lost a sister.”

“Sorry.”

“It was a while ago.” he sighed.

“Illness?”

“Fire.”

“Oh, dear me.”

“I think I go and rest some more.” Mycroft pushed himself up. “Thanks for the help.”

“Sure thing.” Greg smiled at him.

“Mycroft.” Greg whispered.

“I’m up!”

“Shhhh.” he looked terrified. “They are here. Come this way, really quietly.” Mycroft nodded and got up as quietly as possible. The floorboard creaked under his feet, his heart was thumping in his throat as he followed Greg. 

“In here.” they moved floorboards to reveal a hiding place. Mycroft slid into the darkness, replacing the boards above their heads.

Mycroft listened carefully but the house was quiet, the woods around them were quiet as well.

“Gregory?”

”Shhh!” he covered his mouth. “You want to give us away?” Mycroft shook his head. 

“The pot, it might be still warm!” Greg whispered. “They’ll know someone is here.”

“No one will check, don’t worry.”

“How do you know?”

“You think they are looking for us?” 

“No one can be sure!” his voice was shaking, Mycroft felt it was better to stay quiet, for Greg’s sake.

“Morning.”

“Morning Gregory.” Mycroft whispered, it was quiet around them. “Could you sleep?”

“No.” he sighed. “I can’t hear anyone in the manor however.”

“Me neither.”

“Maybe it is safe now.” Mycroft moved the boards above their heads letting the light in. 

“Phew!” Greg quickly got out. “Much better.” he stretched, his eyes scanning the room franticly. “How’s the leg?”

“Not too good, being crammed up didn’t help.”

“You still need rest.”

“I know.”

“So you are not leaving?” he asked with a big smile.

“Not yet, no.” Mycroft lay on the floor, taking deep breaths.

“Good.” he sat next to him. “You should eat something.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t had anything in days.”

“Where is my bag?”

“In here.” Greg mumbled. Mycroft sat up and pulled it out.

“Ahhh, the oh, so nice nutritious bars.” Greg chuckled.

“Right now everything sounds nice though.” Mycroft struggled with the package, he cut it open with his pocket knife finally. “Want some?”

“No, you need it.” Greg waved.

“What do you eat Gregory?”

“Oh, I have a secret stash...or the family who lived here had. Canned food...I’m not sure what they put it into it, but it never goes wrong. Would you like some?” Mycroft shook his head taking tiny bites of the snack bar.

“I can’t believe how lonely you might have been.”

“I survived and you are here now.” he chuckled.

“I remember saying things...when I was not quite myself.”

“Like me being hot?” Greg chuckled, Mycroft laid down on the floor again covering his face. “Yes, you did.” he chuckled. “You want to tell me it was just fever talk?”

“Maybe.”

“Like I believe that.” he laughed. “You look cute as well.” Greg blushed. “I can’t really believe that I’ve said this.” he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never do so, back home...I mean it is...it is dangerous to express your feelings. The shame I’d bring to my family!”

“I already did.” Mycroft waved. “Why mum didn’t care much when I moved to my uncle at fourteen. The story was that I moved to him to be closer to university also because I was too young to live in a student’s hostel all alone. What she said to everyone who asked.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I got used to it.” he shrugged. 

“It must have hurt.”

“Being away from Sherlock was hard, but at least I could live my life.” he smiled. “I had a chance to meet Gregory, my Gregory…”

“The teacher’s assistant?” Mycroft nodded.

“You remind me of him, a lot.”

“Glad to be of your service.” he chuckled. 

  
  


“Gregory.”

“Yes?” 

“Time for me to leave; I stalled long enough.”

“I understand, the mission is important! I think, if you don’t mind, I go with you...I think I can be brave enough, with you.”

“Gregory, I need to show you something.”

“Okay.” he followed Mycroft up the stairs. “Your walk is much better.”

“Yes, I feel it is easier. In here.” he sat to the floor moving the floor boards.

“The hiding place, what about it?” 

“Look.”

“I’m looking.” Greg looked at Mycroft with confusion.

“No Gregory, you are not looking.” he smiled at him softly. Greg sighed and turned his eyes back at it. 

“Oh, when did it get here?” he stared at the skeleton, reminiscence of a uniform still hanging on it.

“A long time ago, a very long time ago actually.” Greg reached down touching the identity disks. “Lestrade.” he read it out. “What year is it?”

“It’s the twenty first century.”

“No.” he shook his head.

“The uniform, it is from the second world war.”

“But I...I’m…”

“You suffered a wound it seems and bled out.”

“So I’m dead.”

“Why you can’t leave the house, why you keep hearing gunfire around you.”

“There isn’t a war out there?” Mycroft shook his head.

“Well, no fighting around us to be precise.”

“But you got shot!”

“I did, as I said I work for the secret service.”

“I’m dead then.” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“So, I’m not going to be a policeman.”

“No.” Greg stood up, biting his fingers nervously.

“My family, they had no idea what happened to me and they won’t know now.”

“I’ll look for them, promise.”

“Still…” he kept pacing.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Mycroft offered a hand to him.

“What about my...body?”

“I’ll make sure you are found and taken home.”

“I have letters...had, I wanted to send it to them.” Mycroft climbed under the floorboards, looking for it. 

“Here.” he held them up, they were pretty intact still.

“Thanks.” he mumbled. Mycroft held out his hand to him. “Now?” Mycroft smiled at him reassuringly. “Now then.” Greg finally took his hand. 

“It was nice meeting you Gregory.”

“Likewise.” they walked downstairs.

“Ready?” Mycroft opened the door.

“I think so.” he took a deep breath and they stepped outside.

***

“Hey.” he sighed relieved seeing Mycroft well and alive.

“Hello Gregory.” Mycroft smiled at him taking his hand. 

“I was so worried, you silly.” he lay next to him pulling him to a hug.

“It was nothing.” he shrugged.

“It is, still something...my lovely idiot.” he kissed him.

“I’ve met someone.”

“Who?”

“Gregory Lestrade.” he reached for the letters and the identity disks. 

“You were hallucinating from exhaustion, pain and the fever.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Still found these.” he handed them over. “He had seven sisters, enlisted when seventeen, never came home from war. Sounds familiar?”

“Grandma’s brother.” he turned the disks around. “Still seeing him?”

“No.” Mycroft chuckled. “You know, he was almost as hot as you.”

“Hey…” Greg chuckled. “Cheating on me with a ghost?”

“He was lonely, terrified.” Mycroft snuggled to his arms. “We talked...a lot. He was young, courageous, funny...just like you. He bit his fingers, just like you.” Mycroft ran his finger over the bandages on Greg’s hand.

“Please tell me this was the one and only legwork you took part in.”

“Not sure.”

“I don’t wish to receive letters you could not send to me.”

“Promise I’ll come home; always.” Mycroft kissed him. 

“I’m thinking about changing occupation you know.”

“When did you decide?”

“Not decided yet.” he shrugged. “Just thinking about it.”

“What direction?”

“Detective.” Mycroft chuckled. “What? Why is it so funny?”

“He wanted to be a policeman as well.”

“Strange.”

“It is.” Mycroft yawned. 

“Rest, I’m here My.” he kissed his temple.


End file.
